


Take me tongue-tied

by mm_coconut



Series: Roundabout [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Catelyn says a bad word, M/M, Modern AU, they're not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24538045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_coconut/pseuds/mm_coconut
Summary: "Who the hell let aSnowin here?" Theon sneers.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Robb Stark
Series: Roundabout [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773424
Comments: 20
Kudos: 128





	Take me tongue-tied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebatwiggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebatwiggler/gifts).



Jon didn't really believe Robb when he compared playgroup to a school disco, but it's true: despite an actual lack of physical barriers keeping them from mingling, the alphas and the omegas have neatly separated themselves in loose lines on opposite sides of the small reception area that leads into the main room.

"Who the hell let a  _ Snow _ in here?" Theon sneers. 

Of course it's fucking Theon.

But before Jon can even work up a good glare, Robb shoves at Theon's shoulders, literally baring his teeth. It's such stupid alpha posturing bullshit, but it works on Theon, who cowers away and looks to the nearest beta chaperone for help. Jon wants to kick both Theon  _ and  _ Robb for it, but they're not close enough.

Jon sees a few other alphas eyeing him, and his shoulders stiffen as he waits for them to echo Theon's sentiments. After a moment, he realizes with a chill that their looks are less hostile and more—appreciative. One of them gives him a considering up-down that makes him want to bolt. 

Soft music starts piping in from ceiling speakers and Jon jumps, looking up to see where it's coming from. Some of the alphas and omegas approach each other, clearly taking the music as a signal. Because he's looking away, Jon doesn't see Theon coming for him. 

"Well, let's have a go at you, then," Theon leers at him, closing in and leaning towards his neck. "You're not gonna get a better offer, Snow." 

Jon feels a sense of quiet settle over him, and he knows without a doubt that he's about to lean forward, move in, and break Theon's nose with his forehead.

Before any of this can happen, Robb grabs Jon's hand and drags him away.

"Robb—what—" 

Jon stumbles as Robb pulls him into the big room. He tries to take stock of his surroundings: gauzy curtains of different shades of blue hang from the ceiling, translucent but effectively dividing the large space into smaller sections, each padded with white cushions. Robb takes him along the edges of the room all the way to the far end, where he plops them down into a nest of pillows, landing on top of Jon.

Jon's face burns at the feeling of Robb holding him down,  _ in front of everyone. _ "I can't believe you!" Jon hisses. 

_ "Me? _ You were about to punch Theon!" Robb whisper-shouts back.

"I was going to headbutt him, actually," Jon says pointedly. Robb actually leans back a little, eyes flicking up to Jon's forehead and narrowing in a wary little squint. Jon feels a little smug at that, but he doesn't let it distract him from chewing Robb out for being overbearing. "You never made me put up with this alpha bullshit before, and I certainly don't want it now."

"I'm not trying to go all alpha on you," Robb insists. "I'm trying to keep you from getting  _ kicked out of playgroup _ on your  _ first day!" _

"You're the one breaking the rules! You just dragged me into the room and threw me down onto the pillows! You didn't even scent me!" Jon whispers furiously.

Robb's eyes zero in on Jon's neck, and everything else that Jon was going to say dies on his lips. 

He knows what Robb is looking at. Yesterday, the two of them had finally found a moment to sneak away and hide in the linen cupboard together despite Catelyn's constant eagle-eyed supervision. Robb had crowded Jon up against the door and sucked a dark bruise into the side of his neck. Jon, face tilted up, had panted towards the ceiling and stared blindly up at the shelf where the fitted sheets were kept. 

(Ned was the one who opened the door and found them that time. He still hasn't spoken to them since.)

Jon has to admit to himself that the pillows here are much more comfortable than the unforgiving press of the linen cupboard door. It makes him unbend enough to turn his head to the side and offer up his neck. 

Robb breathes in sharply and leans down without any prompting. He noses at the skin below Jon's ear for a long moment, then lets just the tip of his tongue brush against the mark he left. He retreats quickly, before Jon even has a chance to shudder in pleasure. 

"Is this okay?" Robb asks anxiously. "We can move to a different spot if you want." He squeezes a nearby pillow with a dubious look, testing it.

"No, here's okay," Jon says quickly. He doesn't want to be picked up and thrown down again in another spot, even if the pillows are somehow better elsewhere.

After all Robb's eagerness and bluster, he looks nervous and uncertain now that they're here on the pillows. He worries at his lower lip with his teeth, which is a good look on him. Jon doesn't say anything. The silence between them drags on for too long, even as the sounds of other paired teenagers begin filtering through the curtains.

Jon starts to seriously worry, and wonders if he's missing some kind of important cue. Is he supposed to roll over, or bare his neck or something? Is there something he's supposed to say? Is this like the whole salad fork versus dessert fork thing? Catelyn had made him take a class for that, too. 

"Robb?" Jon tries. He puts a tentative hand on Robb's side and tugs him closer, experimentally.

Robb relaxes immediately and inches forward, bringing his arm around to settle his palm somewhere between Jon's shoulder blades. Their faces are very close together. 

"I don't know what I'm doing," Robb confesses, whispering. "You look so miserable, and I don't know what to do about it."

"Robb," Jon says, serious, "somewhere in this room, Theon Greyjoy is trying to convince some omega to stick their hands down his pants."

Robb bursts into laughter, which he tries to stifle in Jon's shoulder. 

"No, really," Jon insists, hiding his grin in Robb's hair. "How'm I supposed to enjoy myself, knowing that?"

"Gods," Robb says, still snickering, "I don't think I've seen him convince a single omega to try him out. Most of them refuse to scent him, even when he goes after them neck-first." He turns his head to demonstrate, tilting his head too far to the side and laughing while he pretends to lurch towards an unimpressed omega. 

Jon takes the opportunity to lean forward and set his mouth against skin, cutting Robb's laugh short with a sharp gasp. Jon squirms under Robb's weight, spreading his thighs so that Robb can settle in more comfortably and get closer, and they finally start to get down to the business of playing.

Jon was nervous about this all week. He was a Snow, about to be surrounded by all those stuck-up rich kids, every single one of them unbelievably full of themselves. Robb seesawed between talking up playgroup and carefully avoiding the subject to keep from spooking Jon into changing his mind. Honestly, the only thing that kept Jon from backing out of it was the hungry looks he caught from Robb ever since that day on his bed. 

Unfortunately, Aunt Cat saw the looks too. She instituted a very strict open door policy ever since she walked in on them. She was  _ everywhere, _ watching them like a hawk. She didn't bat an eye at any innocent handholding, but any whiff of actual hormones and she was there to assign them chores at opposite ends of the house. She recruited the other Stark children to keep an eye out, too, declaring a bounty of extra dessert for anyone who cockblocked them. She didn't even word it more delicately—Arya taught her the word and she ran with it, the shape of the word in her mouth clearly distasteful but appropriate.

There's no room for anyone to come between them now, though. Robb is propped up on his elbows as he works his mouth against Jon's, his weight keeping Jon's thighs spread open. His fingers creep into Jon's hair, tugging gently—they both discovered just this week how much Jon enjoys that. Jon moans against the stroke of Robb's tongue, overwhelmed and warm and surrounded by Robb's scent, and he grudgingly spares two brain cells to rub together and generate the thought:  _ Well, maybe the rich kids had a point. _

As exposed as he feels here in this ridiculous pile of pillows, it occurs to Jon what the actual appeal of playgroup is: the opportunity to touch each other in ways they can't do at home. Robb rolls his body against Jon's with a low gasp against his lips and somehow manages to press even closer. Jon spreads his legs a little more, feeling his face glow even more with heat. Robb's hands dig into Jon's waist, moving against him faster, and Jon starts gasping, bites out, "Robb, I'm close—"

Suddenly Jon breathes in a cloud of something that makes the inside of his nose itch and he sneezes, four times in a row. He feels Robb roll to the side and do the same, the whole pillow nest shuddering with the force of it. 

"Sorry, sorry!" Robb says.

"What happened?" Jon asks, bewildered, scrubbing a hand over his face. But when he opens his watering eyes, he sees that Robb is apologizing to an adult towering over them, standing next to their nest. She has a large spray bottle in her hand and a long-suffering scowl on her face.

"None of that, you two," she tells them. "Take a breather and cool off."

Robb collapses back onto the pillows with a sigh as the very tall blonde lady walks away.

"What the hell was that?" Jon hisses. He's still rubbing his nose. He can't smell anything, he realizes.

"That was one of the chaperones," Robb says.

"No shit, Stark," Jon scowls. "No, I mean what was the, you know," and he mimes spraying a bottle at Robb like he was an unruly cat. Or a particularly randy houseplant.

Robb laughs. "It's meant to keep us from going too far during playmating. Scent blockers so we can't smell each other for a few minutes, with the added benefit of shaming us into stopping."

Jon snorts. "'Highly trained beta chaperones,' was it?" 

Robb huffs a quiet laugh. He turns onto his side to face Jon, and Jon mirrors him. Robb's eyes search his face for a few seconds before stopping at his lips. He reaches up to press a thumb to Jon's bottom lip, and Jon feels his face heat at how swollen his mouth feels. His pulse beats hard under Robb's touch, and he doesn't really mean to do it, but his tongue strokes against the tip of Robb's thumb. He tastes skin.

Robb's eyes go dark and hungry. 

"You look… so good, Jon," he whispers. Their faces are so close now that they're sharing breath.

"Shut up," Jon hisses, his face so hot he's sure that Robb can feel it across the small distance separating them. "You look okay too," he mutters.

Robb just grins and noses at Jon's face, lips parting. Jon bites at his mouth, a little mean, then licks away the sting against Robb's quiet, panting moan. 

It's not as exciting as when he has Robb's scent fogging his mind, but it still makes Jon's breath hitch. His skin is warm under Robb's hand on his side, even over his shirt, and his scalp tingles when another hand cups the back of his head. He licks inside Robb's mouth, sighing when their tongues glide together. Jon gets his hands in Robb's hair too, and when they pull apart to breathe for a moment, he grins at the wreck he's made of those dark curls. 

"You'd better fix that before we go home," Robb murmurs. Jon feels Robb's hips shift restlessly, a safe distance away. "Do you know how long I spent locked in the bathroom doing my hair for you?"

"I know exactly how long you were looking at yourself in that mirror." Jon tries to smirk, but he can feel his mouth curl into something reluctantly fond instead. "We share a bathroom, you peacock."

Jon licks the outraged cry from Robb's mouth. 

They make out like that, lazy and unhurried, cradled in their soft nest of pillows. Robb figures out a new trick with his tongue that secretly makes Jon's toes curl. Jon's hands drift and clutch at Robb's hair, shoulders, the dip of his back. He tries to tangle their legs together, but Robb somehow contorts his body to keep out of range. "She's gonna  _ spray _ us again, Jon," he whispers in protest, breath damp against Jon's ear. "I think the scent blocker is wearing off, anyway." 

Jon grunts in agreement, licking a stripe just above Robb's collarbone. "Better make the most of the time we have left, then."

He twists his body on the pillows, shirt rucking up with the effort, managing to roll over onto his belly. Robb bites off a quick moan and, after a nervous beat of hesitation, drops his weight down on top of him. He presses close and breathes, heavy and damp, on the back of Jon's neck. Jon smothers a sound into the nearest pillow and arches to bare more skin, and Robb takes the invitation. His tongue makes a broad, wet sweep before the touch of lips and then teeth on the perfect spot between neck and shoulder. 

_ "Jon,"  _ Robb whispers into his skin, hips grinding down, down, and Jon gasps for air. Robb's scent snaps into focus, so thick Jon can taste it on his tongue. A knee presses between his, and suddenly Jon's thighs are spreading under the weight—

"Calm  _ down, _ get off him," that same tall chaperone hisses, positively soaking them down with the blocking spray. Robb scrambles off him again, scooting to the other side of the pillows while they both sneeze convulsively. "Fucking teenagers," she mutters, giving Robb one last spray and glare before walking away. 

Jon's body shakes with suppressed laughter as he rolls onto his side to meet Robb's disgruntled look. "She's very diligent," he offers, scrubbing his sleeve over his nose.

"She's the noble one," Robb says, voice dry. He sighs, letting his head drop back onto the pillow with a soft thud. It bares the long line of his neck and Jon lets himself stare. It feels safe to do that here, where he doesn't need to hide his hungry gaze from everyone he lives with. "Nearly all the other chaperones can be bribed to keep their eyes and spray bottles turned away," Robb continues. He gestures towards the rest of the room.

Jon pokes his head above the top edge of the pillow nest and peers out. On the far side of the room, outside of what seems to be their own lovely chaperone's patrol zone, he can see more than a few pairs of writhing teenage bodies and more bared skin than was, perhaps, entirely legal. The nearby chaperones were leaning against the wall and tapping idly at their phones. As he watched, one redheaded beta actually did send a single spray in the general direction of an enthusiastic couple, at least fifteen feet away from her. She didn't take her eyes off her phone screen. 

"Incredible," Jon mutters. Fucking rich kids. He spares a grateful thought that Sansa and Robb, as siblings, were assigned to different rooms. No amount of blue-eyed begging from Robb would have convinced him to come here if there was any chance he might see Sansa among these other couples. He does not want that seared into his eyeballs.

"What, no stamina, Stark?" Theon's sneering rodent face comes into view. He walks up to the edge of their pillow nest, darting his eyes between Robb and Jon. "Did winter come too early? Maybe the Snow needs a  _ real _ alpha to show him how it's done." He takes a wide stance and plants his hands on his hips, puffing out his scrawny chest.

"Oh?" Jon says, before Robb could do more than raise his hackles. He looks around, putting on a bored expression. "Where?"

Theon scowls and loses about two-thirds of his bluster. "It's… me, I'm the alpha." He straightens and curls his gross little mouth into a smug smirk. "Stark may not be resourceful enough to know how to get the betas off his back, but I have an ongoing agreement with one of them over there." He gestures to another corner of the big room, where the bored redheaded beta is lounging against the wall. "She knows to leave me alone with whoever I pick."

Jon stares at Theon. "Really," he says, slowly. 

Theon, impossibly, preens even harder. "That's right, Snow. So, why don't you come with me and—"

"So you're telling me," Jon cuts in, "that you continue to pay this woman every week for the privilege of looking away when not a single omega hates themself enough to let you touch them."

Theon recoils and turns red so quickly Jon can see the sweat popping out on his forehead. His throat works as his mouth gapes a few times before he can speak. "You miserable little bastard," he chokes out.

Robb growls and lunges for Theon, but Jon is prepared for this. He slaps a throw pillow at Robb's face, stopping him in his tracks and dropping him back down into the nest. "This miserable little bastard is never going to roll over for you, so fuck off," he tells Theon.

"You're going to regret saying no to me, Snow," Theon grits out. "No one else is going to want you."

Jon turns a pointed look at Robb's direction, where his glare over the decorative pillow turns into a self-satisfied smirk. 

Theon squinches his face closed even more in the middle as he chokes on his own sour disappointment. He whirls around to walk away, only to barrel directly into the tall blonde chaperone. 

Theon stumbles back a step, but she doesn't budge an inch. Her face is stony. 

Theon's eyes dart quickly between her, Jon, and Robb. It is painfully obvious that he is formulating some kind of lie to get the two of them in trouble, but before he can even open his slimy little mouth, she points at him.

"Mr. Greyjoy, go back to the waiting room. No one's even picked you yet, you don't belong here." She dismisses him and watches him slink away, then turns to look down into their pillow nest. "Mr. Snow and Mr. Stark, I'm afraid you will both have to leave." 

Jon's stomach grows cold. "But we didn't  _ do _ anything, it was all Theon—I just said no to him, I didn't—"

Her gaze softens incrementally. "You didn't do anything wrong. Your mother will explain outside."

  
  
  


"Do the noise again, when you kicked Joffrey in the balls," Arya urges eagerly at dinner.

The sound that issues out of Sansa's prim face is a cross between high-pitched squeak and guttural retching, and it lasts for a full five seconds. 

"Not at the dinner table, please, Sansa," Aunt Cat sighs, but there's a slight curl of a smile on her lips.

Arya shrieks in laughter and stands up from her chair to throw her arms around Sansa. "You're my favorite sibling," she declares.

"Hey," Jon protests, but he can't get rid of the grin on his face.

"After all that begging to sign you up for that playgroup, and you get us blacklisted forever on Jon's first visit," Robb mutters, poking at his potatoes.

Sansa eyes him. "How are you disappointed? You didn't really want to go in the first place,  _ and _ I heard from Jeyne that you never picked anyone the entire time!"

Robb freezes and darts his eyes at Jon, then back to his plate. It's a lightning fast reaction, but not quick enough to escape Sansa and Arya's notice.

"Wait, did you pick someone?" Sansa demands. 

"Oh, gross," Arya says, staring at Jon. He stuffs a forkful of chicken into his mouth and doesn't look at her.

"Oh,  _ gross," _ Sansa gasps. She points her fork at Robb. "And unfair, you two live together! You can touch each other any time you want!"

Ned coughs on his food and has to take a sip of water. He is clearly reliving the incident in the linen cupboard. "On that note," he says, "your mother and I have decided to institute a new, ah, incentive system tied to your allowances." He gestures vaguely at Catelyn.

All the children turn to look at her. 

Catelyn is demure as always as she uses her knife to cut into her salad. "Double allowance to whoever cockblocks Robb and Jon the most often in a single week." 

She chews contentedly on her cucumber as the shouting erupts at the table.

**Author's Note:**

> For Nelly, only three years late. <3


End file.
